Resurrection
by Virtute et Armis
Summary: SPOILER ALERT: . Why couldn't he have won any of it back? He was resurrected, but that was useless. The world decayed and fell away further, drowning in his clan's depravity. Itasasu, Madaita.
1. Revival

**This I just an note, I might add it as a chapter if I feel like elaborating, but in this story there is incorporated some symbolism. The most prominent is red and white, which is (awesomely) the Uchiha Clan symbol, but also represents unity.**

**Warnings:** SPOILERS, set after chapter 489. yaoi, Uchihacest, Incest

**Notes: **I'm pulling Itachi a bit out of character, but I hope he's still recognizable**  
**

**Review please  
**

_**Resurrection**_

The foot steps are labored and very slow. The ravens take flight, breaking free from the fragile form. They are his eyes, his ears; his everything. He can feel his flesh turning cold as he moves forward. He can feel his chakra withering like a flower, petals curling and sepals falling away. His blood is coagulated and oozing from every pore and orifice. His heart is still beating, his lungs still rasping, and, right now, that's the only part of his self that is alive.

The sky arches overhead. The blue is unbroken by neither cloud nor star nor moon. It is simply perfect; the sun doesn't even seem to mar it. The heat, unbelievably warm, drenches his chilled flesh. The ground becomes uneven and he stumbles. There are gravestones, which had been carefully tended until up to four years ago. All tended by his younger brother, who loved and lost and lived. The ravens perch atop a tombstone, falling feathers covering all epitaphs. He doesn't need them though, he remembers them. The blood is even hotter as he cries, the sun burning into his back. The life is disappearing- again.

He had lost. He had lost so much. Why couldn't he have won any of it back? He was resurrected, but that was useless. The world decayed and fell away further, drowning in his clan's depravity.

The blood pools thick around his scarred knees. He sees his reflection, urging his eyes to open one more time. He sees the numerous lines of his face- reminiscent of the aged Madara. He sees the sharingan glaring with a terrible hatred and pain, which is the exact expression of his brother. But those lips are his own; they are trembling and dripping his life's necessity. And he thinks how fitting because never had they helped in his attempts to save his brother. Words, in the Uchiha clan, are never enough.

_Nothing was ever enough_.

* * *

He remembered being awakened. He was trapped in his body, his mind sealed somewhere. He couldn't turn his head, open his eyes, but he could feel the others beside him. He heard the voice of Madara, discussing plans with Kabuto. The voices seemed distant though, as if he was behind glass and they were on the opposite side. He tried to use his chakra, but he could not connect. Where was his brother? Why does Kabuto suddenly want him? _Why can't I move?_

He had died; he remembered that painfully and tenderly. He tried to push that from his mind though, because he had to focus. He tried to move again, but the effort was fruitless. The coffins (_yes this was most definitely a coffin_) were moved underground. The chakra that surrounded them was familiar and, if Itachi was more alive he would have absorbed the chakra. It was so much like his own, so familiar, that he could do that sort of thing. It would also, to suck this man dry, be his own form of revenge. _Where is my brother? You promised._

The puppets, yes he was _a puppet_, the seals even ached, were left in a cool, underground chamber. Kabuto left, mentioning how he must 'take care' of a few loose ends. Konoha had been following them, Itachi knew that as well. Even in his stupor he could smell the death and sense the approaching chakra. Kabuto was such a show off that it was disgusting. Madara lingered in the room, his sharingan was activated.

It felt like a thousand suns, pointed and distilled, when it landed on Itachi's eyes. Did he even have eyes, didn't he have them stolen? Didn't his brother have them now? He tried to suck in a breath, which normally helped him abort his thoughts, but he was still paralyzed. The gaze intensified, but there was no way he could stop it or make a move or tell him that it _hurt_. All he could do was lie there and wait, in the corner of his mind, and wonder if this was what the Kyuubi ever felt like.

"Tch, I hate puppets." Madara muttered and walked out of the cavern. Itachi heard the grind of a stone being rolled in to place and the complete darkness was cool on his decaying flesh. His heart was beating slowly; his cells were beginning to regenerate. It'd be a long process, though, before he was up for proper fighting standards, when he wouldn't fall apart and just display maggots to the enemy. The jutsu would take a few days at least. And then what? Would he be fully resurrected or merely a puppet?

He thought about Sasori- _Oh, the irony!_

He could feel different people coming in and out of the cavern during the following days. They'd take their pulse, check their chakra levels, and then disappear in a breath of air. _Whose shadow clones were these? _Itachi attempted to recognize the chakra, but no such luck. He was weakening in his will as he continued to be catatonic. He could feel that fine web of chakra he had before, that could possibly do _some_ damage or at least sense another's chakra, was failing. His mind, too, was melding with his body. He was becoming inseparable, indistinct, and that meant once someone controlled his body they'd control his will. Itachi, though, wasn't scared. He couldn't be. Or so he assured himself.

It wasn't until five days had passed, or what Itachi had assumed were five days (he could not tell, he could not see). The shadow clones had stopped coming and the puppets were left alone for two days. _Oh_, Itachi thought, reassessing his own assumptions, _It's actually been five weeks_. Time was a notion, it felt, and since his body was being reborn instead of aging, it didn't make any sense. Nonsensical, it was all completely absurd. He'd laugh, which he found out recently doesn't become him, if he could, but his body and mind were melding, merging, and new chakra was being fed into his system. It was Madara's chakra. _But I thought I was Kabuto's puppet…_

The stone was rolled away, the angel of darkness entered. That chakra was strong and he felt the bits in his system pull at him, as if by a gravitational force. He groaned, but it was only inward and he knew he only continued to look as if he was sleeping. The sure footsteps came closer and the pull became stronger. It was galvanizing, his whole flesh singing to this man some sick siren song. Or was it the other way, was the man pulling Itachi towards him?

"Wake up, my dear." Madara whispered: his breath a hot plume on the attentive ear. It was still muffled, and Itachi wasn't prepared to respond, but his eyes snapped open on their own accord. His body rose, stiff from rigor mortis, but flowing with new blood and power. The world was dim and the only light was from a paper lantern in Madara's hand.

_My gods!_ Itachi exclaimed inwardly, it sounded muffled as well: _I can see!_

He was worried, momentarily, his expression may have faltered, but nothing had changed. In fact, he couldn't change it if he wanted to. He wanted to look at himself (_what have I become?_), but his head would not move. His lips were dry, he wished to lick them, but his fierce will was a mere flicker beside the raging fire in his belly.

"Follow me." Madara commanded. Itachi rose, the chakra pulling his limbs (a bit awkwardly he'll admit) into a direction and kinesis to follow Madara. They walked down a corridor of stone, which looked flawless, but he could hear people behind the walls, above the walls, and _within_ the walls. Some were screaming for a fight and others for salvation. He wanted to get closer to his old teacher; perhaps the proximity would unlock something, like it used to. But he could only stay at his mechanical pace, his legs striding unequally and his arms not swinging.

The made it to a room, the wall disintegrating. No, wait, that was a genjutsu. Madara stepped through and Itachi followed. He wanted to turn his head, to look around, but he could do nothing. He was ordered to sit and he collapsed in a heap of limbs on the floor. Madara chuckled lightly, "This is a lot harder than I thought. Itachi, sit on the _couch_."

He hadn't even seen a couch. He gets up and collapses, similarly, on the cushions. He can see more of the room now, shelving with scrolls and ancient text. A desk with ink spilled across it, a thousand pens awaiting use. Madara pulls most of his attention, though, and he's riveted. His face isn't sagging, as he remembered, but was pulled taught over a fine bone structure. His eyes were cool obsidian and his mouth a lush red. His tongue darted out, teeth flashing brilliantly in the subdued lighting, his canines a bit too long. He was in a fishnet shirt, black, standard pants, but he carried no weapons on his person. Itachi was confused at first and then realized, in a few flashes, he _was_ Madara's weapon. The kunai pouch seemed like an anvil against his leg.

_Why'd you change_? He wanted to ask. Even when Itachi had went to Madara, for aid to kill the clan; he had lines on his face. Even when Itachi, on his first few days in Akatsuki, would wander into Madara's sleeping chambers, the wrinkles were entrenched. And, even when Itachi was escaping Akatsuki to find his brother and Madara cursed him to the far reaches of hell; it was wrinkles that lined a blasphemous mouth. Then, suddenly, he didn't care so much. _By gods, where is my brother?_

"You can't speak." Madara said. Perhaps he noted the frustration in the eyes or knew Itachi far too well. Granted, Itachi never spoke much, but with the loss of his sharingan, the boy must be looking for another avenue to gather information. The elder looked at the pale lips, tinted blue forever no matter how much blood rushed through the capillaries. It seemed like such a loss, at first, but Madara realized, with a relish, it only added to the youth's beauty.

"I need your help though." He looked askance, but Itachi knew Madara wasn't looking for approval. He was looking for betrayal, hatred, or any emotion that could jeopardize this objective. He found none: "Kabuto may believe he has an ace, but he does not. I was careful, as you can see (at this he motions to his face), so no one knows my full power. I, though, can't do this on my own. I need you Itachi."

_Why? Why after so many years of me needing you have the positions reversed? Why, when I was confused and lost and had nowhere to go did you leave me behind? Why would I help you? _The thoughts were bitter and cold and foreign. His body and mind were one and the restraints of his mind were dissolving into his skin.

"Oh, it's not help I'm looking for." Madara said flippantly, beginning an achingly slow pace towards the younger: "Someone else does. He did not heed you before and he's still hellbent on destroying the village. Do you know of who I speak?"

He was inches away, his hands on his hips, face to Itachi's level. Itachi could not move, but his eyes were fascinated by those lips that moved, that seeped such a poison to his soul. He wanted to get away. Madara wasn't like this. Or he was, but Itachi refused it. Madara was getting under his skin. He couldn't let him get under his skin, but he already was. The seals were on fire, his face didn't change, but inside he was screaming:

_Sasuke! Sasuke! You speak of Sasuke!_

The fire abated, Madara placing a tender kiss on the seal at his neck, his canines scraping the inscriptions. "Good boy." He muttered, "Now wait here. I will pay you for your duties soon."

_With what?_

"Control. I'll give you control of yourself."

Itachi was left behind, thinking of what it'd feel like to be able to have volition. He could run a hand through his hair when frustrated, scratch the itch behind his ear, and maybe retaliate against his hellish position. He fell into a daze, all thoughts disappearing. The chakra was dissipating, he could not remain animated. It was just like the past five weeks, in his coffin, rotting and restoring all at the same time. It's a shame, though, that he didn't know _how much_ control he'd get back.

_But I'll find my brother…_

Sun didn't permeate the walls; the moon wasn't casting shadows across the earthen floor. What time was it? Dusk, dawn, midday, midnight? Itachi stirred, in his mind only, his body was lame. He had been laid delicately back in his coffin, with a noted edition of cushions. A shadow clone came in and a hand hovered above his beating heart. The face was a hybrid of both Kabuto and Orochimaru and, if Itachi had any will, he would tear that face right off its bone structure.

"Almost complete." It muttered, writing something in a notebook, which disappeared in a puff of air. The other attendants rose simultaneously, the same motions occurring, and the same pop crackling the dim silence. They, then too, disappeared in a burst of air and Itachi was left here. He wasn't alone, but he could not speak and could not see the others. Were they like him? Were they yearning to get out? Or was their something different about his position?

Madara only came by once in the next week. He performed a series of hand seals and tenderly rested the fingers on the seal already marring Itachi's skin. The pulse of the chakra was painful. He felt the other seals- on his arms, his legs, his abdomen- release. They were replaced by a network radiating from this one master seal. He was still a puppet, he reflected, as Madara retreated. Yet, time was of no importance to the immortal: _he'll eventually free me_. Itachi let the darkness soak into his eye lids and sunk into a slumber.

_And soon I will see Sasuke_.

The end of the week was when he woke from this slumber. He was measuring time involuntarily- noting the periods of high traffic and low traffic above his head. Right now, although it should be night, there was clattering and screaming occurring. The walls were shaking (he felt the gravel hitting him in the face) and people were breaking free from their stone prisons. They had lost their mind in the solitude and went screeching, attacking, and clawing at whomever they could grab. Itachi felt two strong hands clasp his arms and he thought _well, this sucks_. But he came face to face with Madara, sharingan burning deep in his eyes.

_Yes,_ Itachi revised, _this sucks very much._

He was taken through the forest, actually carried rather than his mechanical run. The others were left behind. Itachi was curious as to why, but it wasn't like he could ask. He simply assumed Madara had done something to him in particular that made him more viable for this purpose. The others, however obedient, would have been a burden.

They landed without a sound, Itachi was dropped from the shoulder he was slung over and carried like a bride. Madara needed to see his charge to maneuver accordingly. The forest was thickest here and he could not risk losing any progress whatsoever. Itachi's skin had almost reached its old resistance, but he could not risk letting any wound occur that could drain precious chakra. He ducked into a net of vines, settling Itachi beside a moss covered rock.

This was as good a place as any, Madara assumed, setting up a genjutsu deterrent and a few traps. He returned to beside Itachi, who looked as still as ever. He's all mine, Madara thought while running a hand through the long, loose hair. His fingers were light on the cheekbone as he guided the head to rest in his lap. Then, he fixed the body of his old student to a comfortable position, Madara's legs acted as two bent barriers on either side of the lean, scarred torso. The eyes were curious as they looked up into Madara's, a hint of cold still caressing the irises that time could not erase. But there was no hatred, to Madara's utter relief- there was no hatred.

"I suppose I should explain." Madara said. His fingers trailed the jaw bone, relishing the pulse of his own chakra beneath the chin of his kin: "Your eyes are the first matter. They are not yours, I gave yours to Sasuke- before I knew you'd come back. Danzo was kind enough to act as donor."

There was a pause. Itachi squirmed on the inside, feeling uncomfortable. In his skull were eyes that were in someone's _arm_. It also meant these eyes came from one of his kinsmen. But who could it be? Was it his father? Or was it his uncle? Or was it Shisui? He didn't know and suddenly he realized how powerless he was, even if he did get control back- he would not understand this level of sharingan (what ever it was).

"Your brother is safe. I'm taking you there now. What I need you to do is very important. I need you to help him control his sharingan. I also need you to get him off his god-damned revenge arc. If he is this crazy, this out of control, everything will be for naught. Itachi- your sacrifices will be for naught."

Definite. Final. Those words had a haunting ring, a paradoxical undertone. The clan's objectives, as corrupt as they were, could be lost. Could he risk losing his? Were they as depraved as all the others? Did it even matter? His life was coming to a close, he wouldn't survive this, why should he fight for a better world when he knows none will come even if he destroys all evil. Because he wouldn't be able to kill his brother and the clan would still live…

_Will you free me, if I help you? _A form of surrender whispered by the withering voice- why was he so tired? Madara must be weakening.

"I'll give you control when we get there." He reassured, his fingers running over dry, motionless lips. They were hot and dry and blood was oozing from them they were so desiccated. It was his blood, now, infused in that body. All this was his, everything: _his_. No one, not Danzo, not Kabuto was going to take it away. "You will remain my puppet until arrival."

_Sasuke will be safe?_

"Yes."

_Then, I agree._

Itachi receded into a warm darkness. It was the same abyss he was cradled in when he had died; the rain and aftermath pelting his flesh. A warm feeling fluttered in his stomach- completion. But he was no where near complete now. He was far from it. A void was swelling and yawning in his arms, his legs, and his eyes. The chakra rushed and swirled in these voids; searching for power. It wasn't his search though, nor his voids, but the burden transferred by Madara who was holding him delicately and savoring the safety of his student. Madara would never admit to such sentimentality. Itachi felt it though, a growing, warm completeness in the pit of his stomach.

He awoke alone. He found out he could indeed move, but he could only raise himself, the air rushing from his lungs immediately. He sucked a few gulps in and then let out a groan. He tried to activate the sharingan, but a singing pain coursed through his system. He collapsed backwards. _I thought I was going to be his puppet_. He tried to rise again, his feet shaky and weaker. His muscles were still there but they had no memory of such movements- they were not regained yet. _The jutsu is not complete- I'm not completely revived_.

Madara emerged, fruits cupped in his hand and a string of fish slung over his shoulder. He handed Itachi a few berries as he set to creating a fire. He cooked the fish, never once looking at Itachi again. The younger edged forward, but his energy was failing him. He was about to collapse, but a strong arm twined around his shoulders and brought him to rest beside his ancestor. The hand also guided him to a better position and offered him a warm meal. He also felt the chakra being offered, openly, through their physical contact. It was the chakra he refused to accept.

"You have to regain strength if you plan on walking on your own- or do you like that I carry you, Itachi-kun?" Normally, a statement like such would be playful and fun and mood-lightening. It wasn't, the voice was lewd and dark and tempting. The mouth was far away, the eyes were watching him from behind a fringe of black hair, but he felt as if they were staring at him straight on (and he was naked and writhing and crying) and those lips weren't speaking words but pressing against his pulse point in a furious kiss (like so many times before- so many, so many, _too many_).

Itachi sucked in a breath and opened up the channels. The food was good and the water was clear and crisp. Madara lay beside him for awhile, just filtering chakra into the near-lifeless body. Itachi was tucked beneath the chin, pressed against the chest, and his legs were wrapped around two stronger ones. Where their stomachs met, the strongest exchange occurred: the pull so strong that if he tried to shimmy away they'd meet back together in a crash. He settled comfortably in the arms of the immortal, blushing ever so lightly when the _zing_ of exchange sent a creeping pleasure to his groin.

The night filtered through the greenery and Madara pulled away. Itachi rolled onto his back, breathing easily for the first time in _hours_. He shut his eyes, trying to center himself. Then he stood and nodded to Madara. He was about to say "I'm ready", but Madara shushed him. "I know you don't speak normally, so this shouldn't be hard, but try not to speak at all. You'd be surprised how much words can take from you. Only use your mouth to breathe."

Itachi nodded, blinking, and followed Madara from their hideout. They climbed in the trees and began to make their way, jumping across limbs, deeper in the labyrinthine jungles. Towards the end of the night Itachi felt like he was deteriorating, or would deteriorate if he continued, So Madara carried him in the last hour right before dawn. Itachi was moaning in a pain he could hardly name. "Your body wants energy, that's why it hurts. I can't give you any, I need mine. Sleep."

At the final word, Itachi was thrown into unconsciousness. Madara carried him further, a few hours in the waxing light. He decided on a cave behind a waterfall, carefully hiding it further with genjutsu. He wiped his brow, and settled beside Itachi, who was sleeping peacefully. He fingered the lips- now that the boy had drank they weren't as chapped, but there still was some blood. He must have been coughing it up when he was weakening- Madara reasoned- and he didn't even complain. He settled his own lips upon those of his old student, relishing the familiar feel. He made a brief chakra bridge and began healing the scarred lungs and internal organs. Granted, he didn't have to shove his tongue into Itachi's mouth to heal him, but since the boy carried his blood and half his life-force now, he deserved to get a little bit in return.

Itachi realized he could dream. He hadn't dreamt since he had joined the Akatsuki. It was because he had nightmares about his clan and begged Madara to make them stop. Madara told him that the dreams hold answers for our present dilemmas; they should not be suspended or overlooked. That night was the night Itachi stopped dreaming- maybe his mind realized the horror-show really had no meaning.

But now he was dreaming, in vibrant color washed in the shades of memory. It wasn't memory per se because this was not his old home, but definitely Shisui's. But his parents were there, or were once there, but were out shopping. Sasuke was still at the academy. Itachi was home, alone, in the living room, reading over a mission statement. He'd had it for awhile- the hardest mission of his life. _They only gave me three months to prepare_- he lamented when normally he thought three weeks was too much preparation- _How can I even pull this off?_

The door opened and Itachi suspended all emotion. He watched himself like one does in the majority of dreams and silently went- _don't do that, he likes that, don't do that_. Madara came into view; his face was as it is now, not the old man it had been back then. Come to think of it- Itachi had seen this younger face, but only in the dark. He felt it when he had run his fingers across it, eyes firmly blindfolded. It was always there but he never saw it.

The ancestor walked across the room, a trail of ravens racing from his wake. The perched on the furniture, tearing at the pictures, the upholstery, and everything that seemed keep this house together. His mother's home-made quilt was torn. The family picture was shattered. The family heirloom was broken into a thousand, shining shards. Itachi saw the tears well in the eyes and even felt them- suddenly he was pulled into that body, the couch firm under him and his world tilting.

"Look only at me." Madara commanded. (Oh, how he heard that so many times before, in the past. When he trained for this he had to look at him. When he learned the seals he had to look at him). Itachi dragged his eyes up, keeping his face in check. But Madara could see the faint furrow and the soft glisten on the orbs. He settled his legs on either side of Itachi's lap, lifting up the mission and burning it in his hand. He towered over the teenager, his black robe slipping back and revealing a hard-cut torso and low-riding pants. He was inches from Itachi's face, the boys breath (Itachi knew, somehow he knew) sent thousands of shivers down the elder's spine.

Suddenly they weren't in the room, on the couch, but now they were in the bedroom. He was 18 at this time, in Akatsuki a whole year. He was tied to the bed, a blind fold on, and Madara was all over him. The chakra burned his skin, making him writhe and cry out. A wet tongue traced the marks carefully. Itachi felt so immense a pleasure when two digits were placed in his mouth for him to give suck. He arched off the bed as he gave a gentle pull, earning a groan from the one above him.

"I love you." Madara muttered, and Itachi awoke. His eyes inches away from those he knew so well but could never understand. The hot lips caressed Itachi's again (a pinch on his side assured him he was awake): "Itachi, I will _always_ love you."

Itachi shivered at the familiar words. The words that made him trust indefinitely in the man in no way he had ever before. He was never betrayed and, although he betrayed Madara, he was being helped by the one he had wronged. Madara was on top of him, covering him in hot kisses- the stone floor a cool relief to the heat above. He was insanely aroused so very quickly and, he wondered, _was that Madara's doing?_

His hands reached up to reciprocate. Gods, they were both naked, and this felt _so good_. He pulled their groins together and Madara, in a sheer act of exhibition, connected their chakras. The galvanizing effect of the bridge combined with the friction sent Itachi reeling through emotions he never knew he had. He felt so in love, so safe, so _complete_. But the question still stood, he was still a puppet, so it was only natural for him to ask, in the heat of the act:

_ Are these feelings my own?_

They continued this pattern for what felt like months, to the tired Itachi, but were in fact three days. They would move through the forest, getting further and further into it, and then rest. The rest constituted Madara settling beside Itachi, tenderly touching his face, his hands, and his stomach. Then he'd begin to toy with other areas, this event becoming longer as the days progressed. Never did their clothes move or did they strip down, but Madara's hands would get under them, his chakra would push at points within Itachi as Madara pressed others outside. Itachi, also, became more active as the days progressed.

The fourth fling, the final fling, when they had only a day's journey to the hide-out, lasted until the small hours of the morning. Itachi was spent and uncomfortable- his pants were sticking to him uncomfortably and his shirt felt itchy on his sweat glazed skin. He tried to shift, but all his energy had left in the rush of his last climax. Madara was beside him, never sated, but somehow satisfied, face buried in the cold floor like some wasted drunkard. Itachi writhed further- his body wanted that energy that was burning beside him _so badly_.

He attempted to close his mind. What else could he think of? Sasuke. He was going to see Sasuke soon. His little brother he could not kill, his Otouto who he loved a little too much for his sanity. He looked at Madara. When his ancestor spoke of Sasuke he sounded short, exasperated, but endearing terms could be found. Madara showed his caring by telling you how much you suck because he knows, and wants you to be, your very best. Itachi licked his lips- wondering what it'd be like reuniting with Sasuke. Madara would be there, would it be any better? Would this continue to happen? Does Sasuke know about this relationship he and Madara share?

Or does Sasuke have his own _special_ connection to Madara?

Itachi shimmied a bit, trying to get a better view of Madara's face. It was looking at him, sharingan activated. Then, Itachi realized in a rush that Madara could read his thoughts (_He's been doing it the whole time, how stupid am I?_) Suddenly Madara was on top of him, his breath abandoned him. He shifted his shoulders, feeling the strong hands directly above them. The ancestor was straddling his hips and they were connected in the most intimate of ways. Itachi could feel the chakra in his system pull a bit, simply aching for the raw power above him. Madara leaned down close, his sharingan a hideous red star within the moonlit face: "I've never done such with Sasuke." The chakra bridged and Itachi cried out at the surge: "You're the only one that makes me feel this way, Itachi." The youth felt the chakra seep in, setting everything on fire. He wanted to get away, so he could think, so he could be safe, but he was securely pinned. "And remember Itachi," Madara cooed softly, as he dragged his tongue over the torn ear: "You _are_ my puppet."

"Sleep."

Itachi fell into that familiar oblivion. Why did he command him to sleep and not play to his fancies? Itachi didn't know; Itachi was sleeping. And, if he dared question in his waking hours, Madara could hear him. Also, if Madara could hear his thoughts couldn't he also invest a few? Make Itachi _think_ that Madara is the nicest man there ever was to exist? He could, very easily. Yet, it would be precluded by any bitterness Itachi held, any hatred, because that sort of will was the strongest and hardest to penetrate. Thank gods- Madara thought; brushing the midnight hair back from his student's face- he does not hate me.

He awoke on a pallet bed. Alone, for the first time in five days, he was alone. He could make out distant voices filtering through stone. By the resonance, they were underground. Itachi rose, realizing happily (well for an Uchiha it is not happily, but something of a similar nature) that his full powers were restored and _stable_. He no longer had to borrow from Madara; he was his own free man. This was amazing, he thought, staring at his hands- battle scarred, but alight with his own chakra. Or, as close to his own as he could with this borrowed vitality. He was about to leave the room, but resigned himself to his bed.

He must find a way out. No, find Sasuke and then find a way out. There was something, always something, about Madara that never sat right with Itachi, He could ignore it, as he had when he was younger, and surrendering to lust thinking it was love. But he was older (and wiser and less hormonal driven) and understood the error of his ways and those of his ancestor. Sasuke was in danger- of what? Itachi didn't know- so he must get him out as soon as possible.

He lay down, closing his eyes, simulating his old state in the coffin. He heard a stream of curses; a girl screaming about how 'you shouldn't bring that sword around if you aren't training'; a man's voice telling them both to 'please be quiet, I'm trying to summon birds'; and, finally, within the mix was a grunt, a dissatisfied, but familiar grunt. Itachi focused on the location of the sound, delighted to realize his power wasn't draining with the effort. He felt the immense chakra of his younger brother and, much to his utmost joy; he had a bit of control over the eyes, his eyes. He chuckled a bit. _Only look at me Otouto_, he hummed in his head.

And Sasuke was beginning to get frustrated with how his eyes, by their own volition, were staring at the ground.

Itachi finally met Sasuke the next day, not by formal introduction, but by a very impromptu meeting. It was the middle of the night, around eleven, and Itachi had spent the whole day hidden away and checking his immense powers. Meanwhile, Sasuke was tripping over everything since his eyes didn't seem to focus very well. And it was by the mid-arch of the moon that both were hungry and trusted themselves to find food. Itachi was leaning in the refrigerator when Sasuke walked in.

Itachi turned around, the moonlight passing over his skin. Sasuke was shocked, his face expressing his surprise (the only Uchiha face that retained this quality), and he started to back away. He thought of asking his older brother why he was here, but realized this was probably a dream. If he talked, then someone would know he had a weakness. In all honesty, this wasn't the first time he had dreamt of his Aniki or even _hallucinated_ about his Aniki. He didn't mind them, not in the least, but once someone knew of his Achilles heel –either by a shocked gasp or sigh in his sleep- Sasuke could lose any edge he had if his underlings were to turn on him.

"Sasuke." Itachi reached out a hand, but realized how disturbing the gesture now seemed. After the fight, many things were now off limits. He recoiled a bit and sat himself down, making sure not to cross his legs or lean back too far. Instead, he studied his brother carefully, the pale chest covered in flurries of white scars, the dark pants a sharp contrast and riding low on his hips, and the bare feet with toes curling in anticipation of him. Sasuke seemed to be far from afraid (though his expression suggested nothing really), but rather to be passionately curious.

The younger inched off the wall- if it was a dream, why not enjoy it? A foolish thought, really, and Sasuke banished it after a few steps. He was about to turn away, to go back to his room, and wait until morning, but two pale arms opened. It was something that never happened before in a dream. Normally, Sasuke would have to beg for forgiveness and his brother would never grant it, or his Aniki would be about to but suddenly a gravestone would loom from the background and extinguish him like a flame. He stepped forward, feeling the familiar fingers clasp his upper arm and, swiftly, he was pulled into an embrace. Midway through it, as the hands on Sasuke's back became comfortable with stroking the chorded muscle, did he realize he was crying.

Itachi didn't mind, thought, he was crying, too.

The embrace lingered until Sasuke realized, with a horrible turn of his stomach, that this was not a dream. He backed away and glared, the sharingan looking harmless behind the film of tears. He pointed a finger, but couldn't speak, couldn't trust his voice. Instead, he just trembled as his older brother watched- enraptured. "Why are you here?" He asked, barely above a whisper.

"I don't know." Itachi replied coolly and grabbed the hand in front of his face. He could feel how cold it was and he cupped it between his own, and then blew hot air out of his mouth onto the chilled digits. He rubbed it, feeling it warm. Sasuke's face was also warming. Itachi's eyes returned to his brother's features, happy to see the color spread on the cheeks. _Look only at me_. The eyes, his eyes, Sasuke's eyes couldn't move from his face. The younger's will was weakening. He sank out of his rigidity and Itachi pulled him to his lap once more, sitting Sasuke on his knee and pressing his mouth to a small ear. "I love you, Otouto." He murmured.

Sasuke's eyes were closing and sleep was fast approaching. (_Too opportunistically_, Itachi thought momentarily) Nevertheless, Itachi carefully carried the precious bundle back to the room. He tucked him in like he used to when Sasuke was afraid of monsters under the bed. He tenderly laid a kiss on the brow and, tentatively, placed one on each eyelid. He now understood why Madara was so obsessed with power; with control- Itachi had never known _it could feel this good_.

Itachi was aroused from sleep in the early morning by Madara looming over him. Itachi checked he had made it back to his room and that everything was as he left it. He then looked at Madara- entirely sure this must not be for reprimand. Anyway, Itachi thought blithely- _he wouldn't punish me for being hungry_. The stronger sharingan came dangerously close to his onyx eyes and large hands were gripping the side of the bed. Itachi felt the mattress sink at the pressure, his skin was already singing from the surging chakra beside him. "You've met your brother." It was accusatory and, in his semi-asleep state, Itachi couldn't understand why.

He kept his face cold, jaw set, and refused to give an answer. Suddenly, Itachi was under the larger body, fear small clots in his airway- fluttering and catching. His hands were pulled above his head and he felt the immense power his ancestor had over him. He was prostrated by a single touch. He tried to resist, but eventually the life, quite literally, went out of him. Madara commanded him as he willed- stay still, take this off, touch here. When the punishment had ended, Itachi was sore, his skin as cold as the day he was revived, and his energy stores at dangerous lows. Madara's parting words were: "Power is not for everyone."

Itachi didn't much care for the slight at his abilities. No, he found it all to be very humorous. Madara, the greatest ninja to live and to never die, was jealous. Jealous of whom? One may ask. He was jealous of seventeen year old boy. Itachi felt laughter gurgle inside, which oozed from his lips not as chuckles but blood. He violently coughed, vomiting carmine over the floor. The metallic tang was familiar and incited memories, mostly, of his fight against Sasuke. Oh, how strong his brother had become. Perhaps, Madara did have reason to fear.


	2. Renewal

After three versions and five re-writes, I got this done! Sorry it took so long, but, luckily for me, the manga has not advanced the Uchiha situation so this is still canon approved~

**I do not own Itachi, Sasuke, or Madara**

**Warnings: Yaoi, incest, Uchihacest**

Please enjoy and review**  
**

**Resurrection**

There was light on his face; his eyes were itching. He moved a hand to rub them and his surroundings came into sharp focus. The mattress was giving and he was sinking. A liquid was pooling in the indentation and caressing open wounds. It was hard, soft, cold, warm (everything, nothing) and he couldn't seem to place it. He sat up and it went with him- thick and clinging to his skin, it was clothing him in a viscous slime (_I'm naked_- he noted). He felt it run into his fingers and through his skin, all the way to his core deep, deep, deeper (but it wasn't, it wasn't even moving). He stood from the bed and the liquid fell away in heavy drops. It formed little explosions on the floor- a white mixed with red; the colors of unity; the colors of the Uchiha.

He walked forward and he collapsed on his knees. Itachi thought he screamed out, but the blood that flooded his mouth distracted him. He reached, dumbly, forward- the room was flitting between darkness and extreme relief. He crumpled forward and began coughing spasmodically. Pure red was pouring out of his mouth. It moved like a serpent, but it was stationary. All the blood did was diffuse and place barriers for itself as it coagulated; hardened; solidified. He licked his lips, clenched his fist, and muttered into the fast approaching, breathing darkness:

_"Stop."_

The floor gave a final heave, the ceiling a final dip. Then, his body tore apart, the liquid penetrating like a thousands razors and shattering his bones, flaying his muscles, and drawing forth his blood. The pain was insane and intense. The pleasure, though, was an admixture of cool surrender and burning indignation.

He woke up. He woke up alone. His mouth was crusted with blood and his wounds were as he dreamt them and the liquid was just as thick. Yet, he was more lucid. The ceiling remained in its place; the floor did not rise up and fall with his breaths. He pressed his lower abdomen and felt a familiar squelch and liquid slowly leave his body. There was so much all over him. It was clinging and suffocating and sensual- a nameless, faceless, sexless lover. He squirmed, writhed, and finally righted himself when the pleasure mixed pain became too biased,

Itachi stood and walked out the door. He made it down the hall, the darkness thick because of the late hour, and ducked into the bathroom. He showered and scrubbed himself until his wounds were pink and raw. He cleaned every part of himself two times, three times, maybe even five. But, no matter how much he tried to erase the touches, he couldn't resist touching himself. And when he glanced through the spray, between his lowered eye lids, past the haze of his euphoria, he swore he could see Madara, looking right at him. Then, he realized, it was only his reflection.

Turning off the water he retreated to his room and looked at his bed. It was painted in blood. _Not all my own_, he reassured himself. However, looking at the white he felt disgusted when he reached the same conclusion. He was older now, past this sort of thing- wasn't he? Then again, this was far beyond teenage hormonal driven lust. This was something else entirely. He stripped his bed of its sheets. The liquid was soaked into the thin mattress, the impression of his sleeping form outlined by ribbons of red. He started to laugh, but it was only inwardly, and he threw the mattress from its seat so it crashed into the wall. He sat on the floor, legs crossed, and stared at the door. He remained that way for the next three hours- abandoned to thoughts he hadn't, until now, ever entertained.

Madara found him. He walked through the doorway, a lantern in his hand to diffuse the omnipresent darkness of the underground chamber and a plate of food in the other. The ancestor wasn't caught off guard by the sight of Itachi and the unkempt bed. Rather, he had expected far worse. He maneuvered around the mattress and placed the plate before Itachi. The younger continued to stare forward, shivering slightly from the cold on his bare skin. Madara placed a warm hand on his shoulder and pressed it a bit. Itachi turned slowly.

"Is it morning?" He asked robotically. His mouth was bruised and a new rivulet of blood was curling from its corners. A bruise was blossoming on his cheekbone, which accented the red flecks in his eyes. He looked tired, haggard, and as if he was merely sleepwalking.

"Early morning." He clarified. Madara seated himself in front of Itachi and gathered some food and held it out in offering. Itachi leaned forward and took the proffered food into his mouth. His tongue lingered on the chopstick as he drew away, but then his mouth was set to the mundane task of chewing and any innuendo was lost and torn asunder. Madara looked about, a bit, and then focused on Itachi again: "You'll be starting your training with Sasuke today."

"You won't punish me for it?" Itachi said with a hint of malice. It was too quick, too unregulated. Madara's mouth twisted a bit, his eyes narrowing. The felinity of his face became pronounced as he pulled his mouth into a shadowed smirk. A canine flashed from behind the taught lips, adding a danger to the face that looked like sin itself at present. However, Itachi just saw Madara playing a game and was not amused.

"Only if you want me to, Ita-kun." The pet name was purred, reverberating within the graceful column of throat. Itachi glanced at the food- _why am I so damned hungry?_ Madara pushed forward and captured Itachi's lips with his own. He brought the boy to the floor, the coagulated blood and dry semen cracking from the pressure and movement. Madara deepened the kiss and slowed it to such a pace that he was forced to breathe through his nose before he completed a desired movement. He made sure to pulse chakra through and, suddenly, Itachi was reacting. He pulled away though, and Itachi was left alone on the floor, the food unattended at his feet, a halo of blood and semen around his head. He stared at the ceiling as it was cast into darkness by Madara's receding lantern: _Well that could have been worse_.

Itachi met with Sasuke after lunch. Sasuke was in his normal attire and Itachi couldn't help but realize how much he _did_ look like a gay pirate as Deidara had jibed. Itachi eyed him up and down. He was trying to take him seriously, but there was no way he could. "Change." He ordered and Sasuke returned a few minutes later with a black tank top, the Uchiha symbol emblazoned indiscreetly on the collar. He followed Itachi down the route specified by Madara and the two emerged outside in a small (almost miniscule) canyon entirely confined on all sides by high, jutting cliffs. Vines tangled down the steep slopes with purple flowers bursting forth.

Sasuke wandered ahead of him and began to idly twirl his katana; Itachi looked around a bit more and then nodded towards Sasuke. They fell into their fighting stances, Sasuke lurching forward first and disappearing in a puff of air. Itachi tried to activate his sharingan, to catch where the original Sasuke was hiding, but instead his head was galvanized by an unknown, terrible pain. He steadied himself and moved, just in time, to miss the first wave of shuriken.

_No sharingan_. Itachi noted, fending off Sasuke's quick taijutsu. Suddenly, lightning hit his arm, which he hadn't even seen Sasuke perform the seals for, and he was thrown back into the cliff. Quickly, en flight, he performed some seals of his own and replaced himself with a shadow clone- his self landed in a tangle of vines higher up cliff. He sat among the corded greenery as Sasuke surveyed the lowest area first. _I could attack_, Itachi thought, _but it's much more fun to observe_.

He sent down a few shadow clones and Sasuke easily beat them off. He couldn't tell the difference between the shadow clones and an actual person- the biggest advantage of sharingan. Itachi gave a little laugh, which gave away his position, when he realized Sasuke couldn't use his eyes at all. Sure, he had activated the sharingan, but he was unable to use it. He just saw the world in a few less shades and maybe a bit slower pace, but nothing was aligned. A bit of chakra therapy could clear that up, Itachi concluded, _but why hadn't Madara done that already?_

Oh well, no matter, and he jumped from his perch (narrowly missing a barrage of kunai) and raised his hand. The sign of surrender was noticed and Sasuke stilled, wincing a bit at the pain in his eyes, blood diluted but still falling from the orbs. "Sasuke," Itachi said, pressing two fingers to either temple of his younger brother, "Hold still."

He found his store of _his_ chakra, which was dangerously low, and slowly fed it to the area behind Sasuke's eyes. He directed Sasuke to try to gather some of his chakra as well, so the two could mix, and the two powers began to meld slowly. He channeled the mixture through the eyes until they became tolerant of Sasuke's more electric power as compared to Itachi's fire-based one. He was hit by an epiphany, though, as he was at the final stage and pulsing through only Sasuke's chakra- his little brother and his ancestor had nearly identical chakra. Perhaps that could explain the inexplicable pull he felt from his gut- the chakra was similar so, since he was tired, his body wanted this energy.

In reality, the conclusion was only drawn because it was better to this reason than that he was lusting and wanting Sasuke.

He pulled away and Sasuke laid a hand on his own forehead, swooning a bit from the new swell of control. Itachi was about to ask if Sasuke was okay, but knew the answer would always be 'yes'. He walked towards the far side, Sasuke following behind at a slower pace, and sat atop an outcrops of rocks- freed from the canyon wall by natural erosion. Sasuke took a seat at a lower tier and massaged his eyes a bit. Itachi got comfortable and closed his eyes, attempting to wait out the notion.

"You want to destroy Konoha?" Itachi asked after a few moments. Sasuke grunted, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eye. It itched, a lot, and he could feel the memories from it, the power, the techniques, all flooding into his system- unlocking their secrets. It was frustrating, though, since he could not understand what these were. He had them, yes, but he had no idea what they were. In his frustration, he barely heard Itachi's follow up: "Mind telling me why?"

It wasn't an immediate response; simply a measured silence, lineated solitude. Neither moved, they scarcely breathed, but not from fear. No, neither was really in that conversation, it was just a formality. Both could feel the burning of the gaze of some omniscient and they chose not to tempt it. It was so familiar, like so many times before when they were at home, with their family, and their mother wanted to try a traditional family dinner again with a traditional familial conversation. Sasuke removed his hand from his eye and replied: "To avenge you." It sounded stupid in retrospect, but he continued on: "they never should have done that to you." His throat was constricting and his mouth becoming arid: "I _killed_ you for a crime that wasn't your choice."

Sasuke drifted off, but, in his head, the argument continued. Itachi should never have died. He should never have been given such a burden (he had been sixteen, Sasuke was seventeen now and this was all too much). It _never_ should have happened.

"The people who wronged me are dead," Itachi soothed. The truth was harsh, grating, and Sasuke felt all his pride being upbraided in one swift pull. Suddenly his power wasn't enough, his will was too weak, and he felt so small. The man he wanted to avenge, the wrong he had wanted to right- everything, everything was finite. And it had ended. Revenge isn't indefinite; it is the most definite of all things. And if you wait a day past the assigned time of Karma's restitution, you never play your hand in the game of revenge.

I'm not an avenger; Sasuke thought bitterly, I'm a coward. He gripped his hands into fists, his fingernails digging into his flesh. No blood was drawing and silently he willed it to just spill- spill from every part and every piece of him. He closed his eyes, shutting them tight, the sharingan a second heartbeat. I'm a coward because I was too afraid to know. I'm a coward because I'm too afraid to kill the one who did you the most wrong. I'm afraid…too afraid…weak.

"You're right." Sasuke said, refusing to add on (for the sake of his pride): "_as always_". Because Itachi was always right. Sasuke lacked hatred just as much as he lacked courage (not like he'd tell you that). Because if he had hate. If he could despise something (someone) to the full extent they deserved he would not have missed the timeline, the dead line. No. He would have been brave enough to end it. To end himself because, ultimately, he was the main reason for Itachi's death wasn't he? He killed him, so by the rules he should kill himself. He should take his life, with his final hope in sight, his only possibility of love (and hate and salvation) right before his eyes, at his fingertips, when his life would be ripped out of him. That's all he deserved:

An eye for an eye;

Oh! The irony!

Sasuke roused himself from his stupor, Itachi was already standing with his hand extended, and Sasuke took the cold digits among his own and let the elder pull him up. The stars were reaching across the sky (how long had they sat in silence?) and the red hues were a mere flicker above the edge of the cliffs. They retreated inside to be welcomed by the subdued sounds of an exhausted evening. They parted way, Itachi at the top of the stone steps when he tossed behind him, barely above a whisper:

"Sasuke, you're not the one who deserves to die."

Was it comforting? Perhaps, on some dimension, on some Uchihan plane of understanding it had made perfect sense; but Sasuke had been removed too young from the life to know its intricacies although he was proving to fall into the clan's old rhythms. Did he feel relieved? No, he was frightened. Suddenly he didn't know if he had voiced his thoughts or if Itachi could now read his thoughts. Or, the worst thought of all (Sasuke touched his face, his lips, his eyes)- could it be read from his expression? Was Sasuke intentionally (or subconsciously and thus intentionally) giving himself away?

Now, if he was an Uchiha he would dismiss the thoughts and focus on strength or honor or just his breathing. But that little distance, the year or two that divided his total assimilation created a fork in his course of action and he took the normal action. He lay in bed that night, thinking incessantly about his brother (his brother who was alive and breathing and _forgiving_). He thought about him to the point he could feel him beside him- like those nights when he was small and pretended to fear the thunder and would sneak into his brother's room for comfort. The warmth from the body always broke the barrier between wakefulness and sleep and he'd plummet into a land of pleasant dreams. The same thing happened, when his mind focused on all the pleasurable things his brother had ever done and now could do. And he dreamt and he dreamt and he dreamt. And, above all, he dreamt of Itachi.

Itachi found his room remade. There was a new mattress and the floor was meticulously scrubbed. An oil lamp was set in the corner of the room so he'd have light, but he didn't bother to turn it on. He sat on his bed and curled under the warm blankets. A piece of paper crumpled under his weight (a note, no doubt) and he brushed it from the sheet to the floor. He dropped into a desperate oblivion. He didn't dream that night because his subconscious was still unsure of what it wished to portray. Instead it worked through the past week, month, and even years to piece together what exactly Itachi's relation was with Sasuke. And, when he woke up tired, it had only one conclusion, which it murmured in the suspension and seemed lost with the rush of wakefulness, but he caught it. He caught it and kicked it under his bed with the note.

They were most definitely more than brothers.

* * *

Sasuke missed that crucial point in his life when an older sibling stops being your hero and becomes your enemy. Granted, sibling rivalry drove him towards it, but his childish admiration steered him clear. Therefore, Itachi was never more than an ideal to Sasuke. He never was experienced as a brother or sibling should be experienced- he was perfection. And when he became imperfect, he disappeared, and that just added to the disillusion.

Sasuke had seen Itachi in another light, the cold hard light of blame. He blamed him for all the wrongs that happened after the massacre. He saw him, again, as an ideal, but this time it was an idyllic shame. He went from everything Sasuke wanted to be to everything he never wanted to be. The transition, there was none, so for the impressionable kid, when the switch was made, there was no bridging. There was Itachi the loved and Itachi the hated. And when Sasuke learned that Itachi was forced to commit the wrong that had created Itachi the hated- well there was no more Itachi the hated. And Itachi the loved was deteriorating too when Sasuke learned, yes, he could be short with his brother, especially if he had to try the damned jutsu one more time because _obviously _he wasn't getting it.

He made the seals, pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, and focused as hard as he could. He did another quick series of seals with one hand and focused harder, but nothing was drawn forth. Itachi watched mildly from the outcropping, attempting to understand why Sasuke couldn't seem to activate the highest level of sharingan- he had gotten to all the others in a matter of minutes, but this one was eluding him. Noticing the darkening sky and his own chakra depletion, Itachi decided it'd be hazardous to continue on because if Sasuke messed up, Itachi was in no state to help him. He stood up and stretched, extending his arms over his head and arching his back slightly. He felt the crackle of his spine settling and the twang of his muscles loosening, but he failed to feel the two eyes enraptured by the sight of him.

Itachi walked forward and placed a hand on Sasuke's sagging shoulder (_he's tired too_), and began guiding him to the opening. However, Sasuke looked slightly dumb, the frustration ebbing into an apathy that was slowly melding with something else. His mouth drooped and his eyes closed ever so slightly, ever so slowly, and Itachi found out what that something else was as Sasuke pitched forward- fatigue. He grabbed the breathing bundle and brought it to a patch of grass, only able to carry it that extent. He then arranged his brother so Sasuke's head was in his lap and he was softly stroking the hair, awaiting consciousness to return.

The warm glow of the ebbing sun painted Sasuke's skin a dusty gold. His black hair was immutable it seemed and his face statuesque. He seemed like some monument, some effigy, the features delicately carved with loving detail. Itachi tenderly traced the high arch of a brow, the sharp cheek bone, and finally ran his thumb under the lower lip. His fingers spread on the shadowed throat, the pulse a strong, steady drumbeat beneath his fingers. He grazed the Adam's apple, ran down the jugular and then the carotid. He was trying to memorize every feature of him, the angle of his collar bone, the slope of his shoulder, and the strength of his tendons. His hand stopped its journey and he put it behind himself with the other for support. He stared up at the edge of cliff, which was blazing with hot reds, like some forge of the gods. He felt Sasuke stir beneath him, but the boy wasn't pulling out of it yet. The only sign he was still functional was the soft murmur on his inner thigh:

"…Itachi…"

It was a mix of a sigh and a whisper and, regardless of its form, sent shivers coursing through Itachi. He closed his eyes. He tried to gather his wits about him- _I'm only tired. I just crave his chakra, his power, because it's so much like Madara's. That's all there is. It's all it is._ Another calling, a little louder, accompanied with an obscene gesture- Sasuke's hand clenching and scratching at his own shirt. A sweat broke out on the golden skin that was now giving way to a more pallid complexion. The eyebrows drew together as Sasuke's hand touched his self, the fingers massaging his abdomen and running along his inner hip. He stilled, but Itachi's name was still fresh on his lips.

Why was he dreaming of that? Or was he dreaming of something else? Perhaps some technique or a past event and it were pain Sasuke was feeling and trying to push away. Perhaps, perhaps, but a perhaps means there is an equally likely other option. An option, needless to say, Itachi was not favoring at the moment. So he opted for shaking Sasuke's form until the eyes snapped open and Sasuke sat up. He looked around a bit and then at Itachi: "We should go inside."

His voice was husky and deep and Itachi never understood until now, just now, (only now), how old Sasuke had become. The younger stood up and began to make his progress towards the door. Itachi took in the sight and groaned so loud on the inside he wasn't sure if it was a body or mind's response. He stood too and followed Sasuke inside, careful to keep an acceptable distance. And, when he was safely behind his door- tired and aching and yearning- he felt himself moved to such a point, to such a place, he had never thought he could be moved: he had never wanted something so much; he had never spurned something so much. And, in the heights of these conflicting passions, he lost all reason and sent himself into a depraved oblivion.

One such oblivion, he'll always remind himself, he wasn't at all unfamiliar with.

Itachi woke up in a stupor, his back pressed against his bed and his pants discarded somewhere near the door. His shirt was itchy from dried sweat and he was going to take it off, but felt it was the only scrap of chastity he had left. When he stood up, his foot went right into the mess he had created last night- cracking and fracturing under his weight. He threw on his pants and looked at the perfectly made bed above the white stained floor. He decided he had to clean it soon because Madara would see it and know that it was not made for him, by him, or with anything to do with him.

Itachi finished the task he had set for himself and, as he stood up, realized just how tired he was. His chakras were at dangerous lows and the exertion from last night was not aiding in his recuperation. He set out to find Madara, but only found some boy with white hair and teeth like razors who told him Madara was not to be disturbed. Itachi harrumphed (actually he was silent, but he most certainly felt like harrumphing) and made his way to the kitchen. He sat at the table across from Sasuke, who had fallen asleep next to his breakfast, having gotten up early to perhaps train a bit beforehand. Itachi poked the forehead and Sasuke roused slowly.

"Good morning, Otouto." Itachi said softly. He smiled, and was happy to find his features could still be pinched into such an expression. Meanwhile, Sasuke didn't attempt a smile in return, but gave Itachi a show of his bared teeth and returned to his cold breakfast. After a few moments of silence, Sasuke said:

"Are you alright?"

It was concern and Itachi was caught off guard. He thought, momentarily, that his brother cared about his welfare. Yet, that hope was soon dashed when he saw the eyes roving his body- looking for wounds. The onyx orbs returned to his own, having found no indication of the exhaustion, and echoed the question in their depths. Itachi glanced away, catching sight of the time, and then looked at Sasuke. "I'm fine." Itachi said mechanically, but Sasuke was unrelenting. His eyes narrowed and Itachi saw, in that shift of expression, the little brother he remembered who'd always be angry whenever he didn't hear the answer he wanted. "I can't generate my chakra like I used to. Normally Madara helps me, well, gives me some. But he won't be disturbed, so I have to wait."

Sasuke didn't even think for a moment: "You need chakra to help me train, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, mine's close enough."

Sasuke made sure Itachi ate a good breakfast, his culinary skills impressing the older brother. He wasn't doing it out of compassion, or at least he wouldn't admit, and constantly made clear that this was for the sake of his training. Itachi chewed thoughtfully, slowly, trying to provoke the impatient teenager. But Sasuke just looked on mildly, inwardly pleased that Itachi liked his cooking (but, once again, he'd never admit that). Finally, Itachi gave up his game and finished off the meal in a few bites. "Are you ready?" He asked, wiping his mouth clean.

Sasuke nodded. Itachi thought about where to do this, the best way to do this, and all the other details on their way towards the training ground. If he had to lie down, he'd rather be on a bed, but Sasuke may feel discomfited in such a position. He also, normally, lay in a very intimate position with Madara and there was no way he'd do that with Sasuke- especially with such strong, new, and haphazard feelings that he was ruled by. So he simply sat himself on a rock and told Sasuke to place either hand on his shoulders. Then, they formed a chakra bridge, and the transfer began.

It was slow. It was painfully slow. It was so slow and to such a point of slowness that Sasuke started a conversation. He never started a conversation because silence was his only companion (a commandment he had made for himself and generally broke). He did begin to talk to Itachi, and it was on no light matter, because for an Uchiha light matters were useless. So he asked, his voice slightly hard and not dreamy as most people would sound when voicing such an inquest: "Do you believe in…" A word, what word? Love? Hate? Redemption? Salvation? Damnation? Perdition? Tradition? Hope? Faith? Fate? Fear? Yourself? Anyone else? …Us…? Everything? Anything? Or nothing at all?

"Itachi, do you believe in absolution?"

He felt the question ricochet him into himself: No. Yes. _I don't know_. How am I supposed to know? It sounds perfect, but unattainable. It sounds flawless, but it's inconceivable. It sounds like perfect death and finite silence. It sounds like pain masquerading as hope or hope masked as pain_._ It sounds, it sounds, it sounds…_By gods, it sounds like my last chance ._But above all the turbulence of thought, contradiction, and ultimately paradox, he thought of one thing and one thing only:

_By gods, it sounds like you._

Perhaps Sasuke could see the distress, or at least feel it in the shoulders. The thoughts were so broad they roamed the entire body, so general that they were pulled from every part. His muscles remained relaxed, but a mental tense settled on all his corded tissue. His bones seem to echo and shake with the realization. The chakra bridge remained open, but both could feel it fluctuate due to an interference of it between them- some emotion by either the sender or receiver that was attempting to bridge the gap instead. Itachi held still, the silence was painful because it meant his indecision and it meant his denial; his denial of absolution and ultimately saving himself.

"I believe it exists." Itachi finally said, the chakra was a mere trickle now and his body was still craving more. Sasuke made push to give more, but Itachi severed the connection entirely. "I just don't believe it's meant for me."

Sasuke's hands flexed, useless against the unyielding flesh. He pressed his forehead into his shoulder, trying to keep his thoughts inside, but all they were were mere flashes of brilliance, extinguished by the darkness of uncertainty. A staggered breath, a small, insignificant realization: "But you were revived, don't you think that means you get a chance to absolve yourself? Aniki?"

The pet name on the end wasn't a formality, but a form of pleading. Itachi heard it and felt a rush and never, ever felt further from absolution. Since he was resurrected he was never more than a weapon, a tool, and a sick lover to the man bent on destroying to world. And his brother, whom he now had the chance to save, would remain out of his reach because Itachi couldn't bear to move forward. He liked the darkness that clouded his mind because it kept his judgments and indiscretions moral. The moment he stepped out, he knew he'd lose all his hope. "If you're me." He was choking on his own words, Sasuke even felt the spasm. Itachi realized the sentimentality and continued: "If you're me absolution is secondary." _Stupid, stupid, STUPID_ "I want to last as long as I can, stay alive as long as I can. Dying isn't pleasant Sasuke, though, I'll admit, living isn't the best state of being either."

"Liar." And Itachi heard the trembling in the voice. The pain, the hurt, the anguish: "Liar, liar, liar…" It locked onto that word like some prayer, lifting up his depressed faiths to some god. A god of what? A god of patience? A god of virtue? Or was it not even a god at all? "Liar…"

Sasuke backed away, disappointed. He had only muttered the word once- Itachi realized, but it had echoed with his every heart beat. The pain was hot and white and blazing. He watched Sasuke pass inside, no sign of emotion whatsoever, but Itachi could still feel it. Liar. _I don't want to hurt you._ Liar. _I'm doing this to help you. _Liar. _I'm trying to save you from me_. Liar.

Itachi wept openly, but no one was there to see. The birds didn't even take notice of the action. The wind didn't sigh with his silent sobs and the skies didn't mimic the actions. No, the sun continued to shine brilliantly and, if anything, the sky became a brighter blue. The grass was cast into such a green that it seemed to glow in the early afternoon Sun. But Itachi continued crying- broken, hurt, and failing. His face did not flush because he had no spare blood to give. The reason being, all his blood was being used for another purpose, for it was already collecting in his eyes and falling from his eyes in tears.

_Liar_.

* * *

Sasuke was waiting for Itachi. He realized the dankness of the room, grey and boring and plain. There was only a bed, a rudimentary oil lamp, and a pile of clothing bifurcated into dirty and clean. Sasuke's room was similar, but he put his clothes in a trunk. The bed was comfortable, at least, and he sank in a bit. He saw the floor worn away near the edge of the bed- the finish having been scrubbed off. He watched the door, back pressed against the wall, the portal right before him.

Itachi finally came through, walking surely through the dark. He was a bit confused as to why a light was on in his room and, with a flutter of fear or anticipation or both; he thought perhaps it was Madara. However, when he saw Sasuke, he felt both emotions strongly and he really wished he had never come down the stairs. His chakra stores were still dangerously low- the weeping having torn most of it from his body in spasms. Sasuke looked at him, his legs were crossed in a way that was haughty and reminded Itachi of how he had sat during the fight. It was meant to evoke such an image and Itachi suddenly felt very exposed.

Itachi looked away and began pulling off his clothing. His skin was still speckled in fading love bites and the new lacerations weren't healing quickly along his back. Sasuke watched in admiration, though his expression never shifted, and as Itachi was reaching for a new shirt, Sasuke spoke up: "Come here."

Itachi obeyed and stood before Sasuke. He towered over him, his height greater, but his muscles were definitely not as strong and defined as Sasuke's. Sasuke stood up and, by pressing a hand on Itachi's shoulder, guided his older brother onto the bed. Itachi lay on his back, Sasuke briefly inspecting him. He then straddled Itachi's hips and placed his two hands on the stomach- right above the chakra center. "Hold still." He murmured and a strong bridge was formed. Itachi felt the inexplicable pull and arched off the bed at first. He settled back down, Sasuke a bit disconcerted, but never deviating from the task at hand.

Itachi felt the chakra surging through him like an electric shock, a lightning bolt. It was ripping apart all his cells into a rapture of unknown lengths and heights and weights. He closed his eyes in satisfaction as his body hummed in accordance with the pulsations. He could feel Sasuke quickly tiring above him, the weight getting heavier on his hips. He steadied the hands, but the sweat was gathering on the palms and he couldn't support them well enough. Itachi finally pressed the torso, running his fingers along the side and guiding him, gently, further up. After a bit of coaxing, Sasuke was lying beside him, tucked between his arms, and passing chakra through a connection at their stomachs. As they lay still, both not daring to move, Itachi began to open new bridges.

They shifted into comfortable positions, the pull of each other's bodies crashing them together when ever one moved. Finally, Itachi had settled on to his back, his arm thrown out and one leg bent into the air. Sasuke had his head on Itachi's outstretched arm, his one arm tucked between them and the other across his older brother's abdomen. His one leg lay beside the supine one, the other threaded through the gap formed by the bent one- careful to keep his leg low enough. He was feeling tired, the flow finally beginning to ebb. And, by the thickness of the darkness and the safety they were beginning to feel, they knew it was night. Itachi made a few seals and the hanging lamp went out. The chakra bridges closed and the two fell asleep, tangled amongst themselves.

They found themselves in each other's company when they awoke. They roused at exactly the same time, one's movement probably causing the other to stir. Sasuke retreated to his room, promising to meet him outside soon to begin some training, and Itachi took a shower. He paused, though, before stepping under the spray. He touched his arm, his chest, and his inner thigh. He rubbed every part where Sasuke had touched or even breathed upon. He tried to brush away the tingling sensation, but every time he touched a spot, a shock was sent tenfold to all his nerves. And when he tenderly pressed his hip, where Sasuke had sat atop him, slipping and rocking in weariness before Itachi had brought him to lie down, the sensation hit its epitome and he was snapped back to reality. He looked at himself and he was engorged and hard and dripping. He made sure to turn the water on to cold, but it took his own ministrations, with one person in mind, to make it go away.

* * *

Itachi was on his back, the grass cool against his bare arms. His shirt was hung delicately on a netting of vines and his pants were holding to him by sweat. The pulsating throb of his wounds- wounds inflicted by a wrathful, frustrated Madara- was irregular compared to the beat of his heart. The stars were cool needles among the blue blanket of space. Some were strong, some were weak, and altogether they created an amorphous picture of the world and all that it was. He clenched his hands and groaned loudly- Madara wasn't the only one who was frustrated.

His brother and he had been training constantly lately. Twice a week, at least, Sasuke would transfer chakra with Itachi. In those intimate moments they seemed to forget all tithes and ties. They surrendered to emotion and, many times, Sasuke would cry- gasping against the chest that was stealing the life from him. Itachi would hold him and console him and kiss him softly. When it was over and Sasuke walked away, he'd never look back. Three nights ago Sasuke had stood in the doorway, eyes staring into the static darkness set into motion by his very breath. Itachi could see the tenseness in the bare shoulder. He could see the roiling emotions in the coiling muscle. And he could see the pain in the claw marks on his upper arms- inflicted by himself for gods know what reason. And he continued to stand there, looking out and not looking back. He ended up passing through after a few seconds, minutes, hours, and, right as the darkness swallowed him and his breath pulled it into a stilled harmony, Sasuke had said: "I love you."

And the haunting effects of those words drove Itachi to the point of madness. That night he dreamed and dreamed and dreamed. His subconscious was sending blaring messages of love. He dreamt of holding Sasuke and never letting go. He dreamt of losing him in the most horrible ways. He also dreamt of recovering his brother from some nebulous fiend. He was lost on the rise and fall of these emotions, these tides of sentimentality. He was sick with love when he had woken up, vomiting violently due to the unfamiliar depth of such an emotion. It had also been that morning Madara had found him and Itachi had learned of his terrible wrath. He learned of it, but he knew not why, and he bears the marks of his ignorance now- his privates aching from rough touches and his stomach hatched with the tear of strong chakra.

He felt one wound open as he stretched, the blood trickling down his chilled torso and pooling in his navel. His mind was far from Madara, though, and instead was focused on Sasuke. His thoughts were not on his lover but on his love. The stars were not so fearsome and the night not so eluding. The dew wasn't cold as it collected around him, but a familiar and welcoming touch. The warmth the blood traced was his love's tongue, laving all the pain away in one swift motion. He felt himself swell to the epitome of passion and fall right out of it with the exhale of a single breath: _Someone's approaching_,

Itachi didn't move, but by the chakra signature he knew it was Sasuke. The boy's chakra was strong and overpowering. He stood beside Itachi, his shadow blocking out the moon, and his arms were crossed. His face was set expressionless, but Itachi could sense to murmur of sheer relief the boy was feeling. Itachi fancied, and was correct in his assumption, that Sasuke had looked for him to do the transfer and, when failing to find him, looked for him furiously and had feared the worst. His lips were still quivering from his whispering of 'no, no, no' as if the mantra could change reality. "You're going to catch a cold, Aniki." Sasuke warned. He voice also trembled and Itachi caught the pinch of the eyes to stop tears from falling. Sasuke must have been very worried.

Itachi stood up and poked Sasuke's forehead: "I'm fine, Otouto." But that wasn't the truth and Sasuke saw the truth on Itachi's body. As if realizing his own injuries just now, Itachi ran his fingers along the crusted blood of his abdomen. Sasuke's hand went tentatively beside his and the thumb rubbed along a particularly deep laceration. Sasuke, to get a better look, dropped to his knees and inspected the wounds closely. Itachi felt his breath attempt to stick, but he fought it through his larynx. Sasuke could feel the heat of the chakra- the chakra that was not his- and knew it had been Madara's doing.

"Why do you let him hurt you?" Sasuke asked, tracing one cut that swept far below the others. It went right beyond the hem line and Sasuke's hand stilled there. Itachi placed a hand in Sasuke's hair, stroking the midnight hair in consolation. Honestly, Itachi had no answer. He had just habituated to such treatment and thus didn't care. Besides, he admitted in spite of his own morals, it felt amazing during the act. Sasuke felt the muscles clench below his fingers as he pressed the angry red line. He also heard the echo of a moan arise from his brother's throat- the younger couldn't help himself from shivering. "I'd never hurt you." Sasuke said and tenderly laid a kiss on the nethermost wound. He dragged his mouth the short distance, past the hem-line, to the bottom of the wound. The blood was still fresh here and he took a few drops into his mouth. When he upturned his face, mouth tainted red and fierce by his own need and wants, Itachi felt his grip grow tight in Sasuke's hair.

"I know, I know," Itachi felt himself chanting. _I know, I know, I know…_ because he did know. He knew his brother wanted to protect him as much as Itachi wished to shelter his Otouto. He knew that Sasuke was incapable of hurting him even if Itachi was threatening his life. And, beyond all this, he knew Sasuke would happily bear his wounds and his pain and his punishment. And, when Itachi's control quivered, he grabbed Sasuke's face and brought it close to his, the bright red mouth as tantalizing as any dream he had ever dreamt. "I love you." Itachi relinquished and the two shared a passionate kiss that threw them beyond all boundaries and all morals. They were brothers and, yes, they loved each other as brothers should, but their fraternity was far beyond what people considered couth.

But who cared? The stars didn't fail to shine. The moon didn't wane as they met each other hungrily. The world continued to turn, the wind continued to blow, and the lives of everyone didn't stop its progress. No, the only change this culmination offered was a better world, a better life for these two brothers. They were no longer alone and, after almost ten years of self-denial and untested feelings; they knew what it meant to love and, above all, to be loved.

And when they finished, breathless and limitless, they parted at the top of the stone steps. Everything had come to this. Everything had brought them to this point. Itachi thought of embracing Sasuke who was sweating, aroused, and exhausted, but decided against it. The clothes had not been removed, but the barriers had fallen. Itachi still ached as he walked down the stairs. He was about to disappear into the certain darkness when he was thrown against the wall. For a moment he thought it was Madara, but it was Sasuke with a renewed vitality. He pressed his lips on the tender skin below Itachi's ear, his breath fanning over to sensitive skin. "Take me." He whispered heatedly.

So he did, in the hallway, against the wall. Both were terribly silent, but could hear each other screaming in ecstasy. They felt complete; Itachi reaching new heights he thought had never existed. They parted with a strong kiss and push from one another- their discipline showing in their ability to leave one another. Itachi returned to his room and fell into a sated sleep, relishing the feel of his brother's seminal fluid on his hand. His brother, who had more endurance, stayed up longer into the dark hours, thinking of one only and throwing himself time and time again into an absolute abyss. Moreover, the third surviving Uchiha was not left out among these events. He sat in his study, an orb, similar to that of the Kage's, showed the proceedings occurring nearby. He watched the events unfold and that frustration built inside him. He saw Sasuke steal what was his. He saw Itachi deviate from his passions. And he saw the very end of his mastery.

Unless, of course, he had a plan, and, being Uchiha Madara, he most definitely had a plan.


	3. Release

**Final Installment**

**Warnings**: male on male stuffs, incest, blood, character death. SPOILERS

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the characters

* * *

_**Release**_

* * *

Maybe,

Just maybe:

_This wasn't a good idea_.

But it was one doubt

One doubt against a million hopes.

So maybe (just maybe), _it will be alright_.

Maybe

Just maybe…

If the world were to turn itself inside out and destroy everything, then the phenomenon would not have gone unappreciated at this moment. Itachi could feel his uneasiness knitting into his brow, furrowing them close together and drawing his eyes with them. His pupils fluctuated with the slightest change of light, fear lending to the sensitivity. He used to be able to hide (_hide_ sounds so immature now). He would always hide everything behind a façade (but that mask had melded into his skin). He felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder, emotions running fiercely, haphazardly from the single touch. If he had any less control, perhaps he would have screamed. _But_ he kept his mouth shut, his gait steady, and his goal in sight. The stone arches seemed to spread their arms wide- _welcome, welcome Itachi (_for you have given me more than I could ever have taken).

The Uchiha Cemetery had never looked so foreboding (_so familiar_).

The ground gave way to the footsteps, squelching with each added pressure. The sound of weapons jingling became mute on the saturated air. Madara stayed a few paces behind while Itachi made his lone trek ahead. Every single stone seemed to have a gravitational pull from them. He felt himself be torn in every direction as he continued his journey inward. Petals from flowers left to die were cold and shriveled and rotting. The grass was long and overgrown, clutching his legs and making his skin itch. He couldn't help but imagine the vegetation as some hand, some ancestor clawing their way from the tomb. If he could rise, could not they rise, too? And when they did, would they wish to wreak havoc on him like Sasuke? He constantly had to look down at the grass, assuring himself it was not digits, but grasping foliage. Nevertheless, he continued to overlay the greenery with images and pictures of clawing appendages, his eyes conjuring up horrific ideas. He ended up kicking at a grave stone, that of his father's, to make it all stop.

"Desecrating the graves?" Madara hummed breathily, pursing his lips as he read the worn inscription. He held back a laugh, his fingers artfully pressing into his lip so they parted just enough to flash his teeth. His other hand pressed gently into Itachi's side, guiding him away from the infernal reminder. "He was a screamer? Wasn't he?"

It was a joke and Itachi smirked- playing the part as usual- "Yes. He was one to scream." It wasn't funny though. Gods, how his father could scream and his mother could cry. Betrayal was second nature, but being betrayed was something foreign. The way they disbelieved and asked questions until the moment of death. They were trying to prove him wrong. Until the moment they died, they were still trying to forge his innocence. Itachi caught himself crying and wiped away a tear swiftly, Madara already a few paces off. His father had been tough (as tough as leather his grandfather would grump constantly), but in those final moments, his father had broken. Given that they were dead by the time Itachi had put on the show for Sasuke, he had originally killed them before, in the kitchen. His mother was already dead and Fugaku wouldn't believe it:

"Itachi what are you doing?"

_Like you don't know_.

"Now, come on Itachi, we're _family_."

_Family means nothing._

"**I love you**."

At that moment, the sword had slid through his body with ease. And as the blood spouted from the severed gut, his hand grasping his abdomen and ragged muscles, he had forced all the air out of his lungs into a loud scream. It wasn't a scream for life or a scream for his wife. Oh no, this scream only bore one name and that was of someone he saw as his last hope:

"ITACHI!"

He was shocked into reality when a hand caught him and stopped his movement. Madara was behind him, his hand resting on Itachi's shoulder. He slowly dropped his palm and wrapped it about Itachi's waist, catching it with his other arm. He stepped in further, closing the embrace, and whispering into Itachi's ear: "Do you know who's buried there?"

The tombstone was rather large, looking more like two combined rather than one (which in fact it was). One half was inscribed with a beautiful epitaph to a brother and a son. Itachi could see the name, but couldn't recognize it. The year, though, rang hauntingly clear. He knew who died on that date; it was because of his death that had determined his direct lineage as the main house. Madara's nose touched Itachi's neck tenderly, his breath fanning hot on the sweating flesh: "That's my brother's grave."

Of course it was, Itachi realized stupidly. Saying it in his head and having it said to him seemed to make all the difference in the world. A moment ago it was merely a fact he had memorized to terrorize the branch families, but now it was something familiar. Suddenly that was a part of him, a part of his life, and a part of everything he had ever done. Madara's hands began to massage slow circles on Itachi's abdomen, feeling Sasuke's chakra course right beneath his fingertips. Uchiha brothers were definitely their own species, he'd have to admit.

"That empty grave." He gestured with a nod of his head, pressing his brow to Itachi's temple: "Is supposed to be mine. We may have been rivals, but we loved each other and we had wanted to be buried next to one another. "Itachi felt the fingers rake their way on his flesh, his shirt having ridden up a bit. Lips were hot on his neck. Madara moved achingly slow as he guided his warm muscle from the juncture of the shoulder and neck to the strong jaw line. Itachi shivered involuntarily when the tongue disappeared inside the warm cavern. For once, though, his chakra had not been titillated during such an action.

Madara hummed, his lips vibrating on the now moist flesh. When he spoke, his lips felt like insect's wings on glass. "I made sure he was buried in this plot, with room for me. It was really that reason the separate cemetery for the Uchiha clan had started. I insisted on it when he died –an Uchiha only cemetery-, to the point of raised suspicions. But, in reality, I solely wanted him all to myself."

Itachi relaxed into the grip. The grass had morphed back to vegetation and the circling birds were sparrows and no longer vultures. The sky wasn't a distorted, stormy grey, but a bright and blithe blue. The sun wasn't distant and cold, but warm and gentle. The fingers were hot as they drew intricate designs on his stomach, the breath on his neck the current from an angel's wing. He felt perfect, almost complete, held so perfectly in that embrace. He even let his head sink back and he stared at the empty plot. It was a verdant green, still well tended, and flowers were spilling over from its counterpart. This one plot was so well kept, it was so pristine, and it was most _definitely_ something of Madara's.

"Promise me." Madara said softly, withdrawing slowly, "That you'll bury me here when I die."

"I promise."

* * *

There was the past, which was cut off from him by his initial death. There was the present, which was too surreal to believe. And then there was the future, which only held another death. Itachi didn't see much beyond each breath he took, he only knew he'd take another one very soon. When Madara had told him his goal had been achieved, Sasuke no longer sought revenge and could use the sharingan well; it wasn't much of a surprise. When he was told the training would end and Sasuke would be put into some sort of preparation, Itachi's breathing barely changed. But it did change, a small little catch, one little doubt: _where was Sasuke going_? And, the most inevitable of all questions, the one the Uchihas are plagued by constantly: _Is he never coming back?_

He'll admit, though, there was a sort of serenity when the responsibility was lifted. He felt a little more tranquil when the tempter of his desires was going to be removed from his life. His anger was a mere puff of hot air on the inside of his chest, his despair a dryness in his mouth. His state of mind didn't seem to change when Madara walked away, almost regretfully, and even offered a few bits of consolation- _he'll be back, I promise_. And he only said that because he cared, but Itachi still felt no different. He drew in another breath and let it out just as before. His heart beat once again and the pulse disappeared into the folds of eternity. Nothing was changing (he looked at his hands and they looked alive and strong and as if he had never died). Nothing was going to change (he looked at the door, seeing the moving, twin shadows of Sasuke and Madara). Nothing had changed (at this his heart gave a small clench and he realized he was doubly in love). But that didn't matter (_did it?_), because he may have truly loved and maybe even had attained requited love, but the art was in the retention. He heard the guard say farewells to the two departing Uchihas. He knew he had no art. They were gone and, when they were to come back, another breath will be drawn and his heart will beat just the same.

Sometimes, he wondered, what it'd be like if things were different.

And, within an equal space of time, he'll wonder why he ever cared.

The next few days passed in a distilled silence. He felt the chakra seep from his skin as he drove himself to the edge of madness. He'd never admit his fear they wouldn't return. He never would admit his wanton need for their company. He prayed to gods he had never believed in. He spited demons he had never known existed. Alone, _alone_: he beat against the walls. His fists would make contact and the strong stone would splinter. His skin would be hatched by rough abrasion and blood would leak, slick onto his palms. He would try to force emotion from himself, but only an upwelling of apathy seemed to tether him to this world. An eternal spring of passivity, a fount of jaded youth: what good had this carefully constructed self come to? What use was he anymore?

He woke up on the fortnight, or seventh night, or was it even night? cold and dripping with his own bodily fluids. His skin was slicked in sweat; blood was crusted, but also fresh and oozing on his arms. He felt the familiar aftermath of pleasure caked on his legs, still sticky and serpentine as it goaded his skin into another fiery passion. The worst of these plagues, though, was the hot salty tears that fled from his eyes. His heart ached and pumped with each thrust forward of these eternal wells. His woes condensed, cascading down the years etched into his face. Two eyes stared at him amazed, masked by the thick darkness of the hall. Ugly- the observer remarked- how ugly Itachi looked crying like that.

But ugly (_ugly_) isn't always a bad thing. His face was contorted in the severity of a dull pain when one yearns for a strong torture. His fingers were twisting in his greasy, matted black strands- an image of the ugliness (so familiar, so unwanted). The observer kept his eyes riveted on the pale, tortured form; red and white shining brilliantly in the darkness. He was ugly, _so ugly_. But that's what he loved about him. All his life he had worked to be beautiful- in the eyes of his father, his family, his clan. And where was he now? A man drenched in the forbidden pleasures of incest and confined by self-imposed restraints. He had control of everything but himself. The observer turned away when another wail resounded from the thin chest, contracting into an amorphous plane. He couldn't watch anymore.

No, he could not bear the sight of it.

(His limited narcissism denied him that pleasure)

Itachi collapsed into a bundle on the floor after a few hours. He awoke alone, again, in the same position. Well, not quite, he was cleaned, the smell of shampoo haunting in his hair. He was dressed warmly (he hadn't even noticed the chill before) and had blankets neatly tucked around him. He felt a presence behind him and he turned to see Sasuke. His back was to Itachi, his face almost hitting the wall. He wore no shirt, new scars glistening on the expanse of flesh. Itachi gingerly ran a finger over the healing wounds, watching a shiver rack Sasuke. He laid a tender kiss on the vertebrae of the slender neck, dipping his tongue into the deepest part of the curve. He slipped off to sleep soon enough.

Their thoughts seemed to intertwine- all hot and hungry and power thirsty. He'd wake, or semi-awake, and feel Sasuke be wracked by convulsions. He'd watch the chakra worm its way in the scars, alight the tender flesh, and tear it anew. He saw the lips curve into a harsh grimace and the smaller body would be thrown against his own. He'd hold it steady, absorbing the coursing, destructive chakra. He felt needed, vaguely, but it never went beyond that. He would awake, Sasuke far from his grasp, rolling around, a silent scream shaping his mouth into a round hole, and Itachi would grasp him again. This lasted for hours- maybe even days- and finally Sasuke seemed to recover.

They were separated almost immediately. More training was Madara's excuse. Why, _why? _Itachi found himself wandering aimlessly, tiring easily. He'd trace the indentations on the stone walls, pressing his cheek against the cool stone. Madara never seemed to be around and Sasuke, once again, did not exist. The people on Sasuke's team had seemed to disappear, too. He was alone, again, and the guard was his only company. He never bothered to speak to him, but he'd observe the sentry. He thought of what the man must know- knowledge denied to Itachi - and how much more important he must feel with those factoids. He became too tired, though, and after a month (he made a point now to record time) he was too tired to stand. He had collapsed in the hall. He lay in the hall for two days, completely catatonic, and the cold floor about him felt very reminiscent of the coffin.

It had been three days when Madara returned. In truth, it was by accident that Madara had found Itachi sprawled on the floor, his eyes unseeing as they stared at the ceiling, and the flesh turning a cold blue. He pressed two digits to the pulse and a flutter of movement reassured him the boy was not dead. He gingerly picked up the bundle and carried it with him, supplying ample amounts of chakra into any of the points of contact. Itachi stirred a bit, a moan rolling from his mouth like a tongue lolls out of a dog's. He brought his precious load to his bedroom and rested the body on the bed. The flesh was still tinted blue, the chakra only serving to make the limbs become more animated. Madara kissed the carotid artery and then walked out to do his business.

He gathered a few scrolls from a hidden library Itachi hadn't sensed and Sasuke knew nothing about. He did a few a hand seals and, in a puff of gray smoke, the cargo was sealed on his person. He went to a shrine; a simple altar set up at the back of the room, and knelt before the idols. With his immense chakra, he lit the incense and the few candles. He spoke the old language as he lifted prayers to the god of war, the god of triumph, and any other god his clan had created since its formation. And, as he rose, it was all distinguished, his faith cast into the shadows of bygone days. He left the library, closing the grasping incense behind the doors. No one would find the sacred scrolls or the shrine. Faith is only practiced behind closed doors.

He returned to the room. Itachi was on his side, eyes were roving the room and his abdomen was racked by spasms as panic ran its course. He knew not of where he was or how he had gotten there. He gripped the sheets, the texture unfamiliar and finer than he remembered. His task of keeping time was obliterated when he found no measure, he had lost his measures, and now everything was blurring together again. A steady breathing that wasn't his own gave away the other occupant, but Itachi thought it to be calming in comparison to his erratic heartbeat. And when he saw his hands, as they clenched into fists before him, he became frightened. Blue, his skin was blue. He had to stop himself from laughing, though- _I kind of look like Kisame, I bet, just need the gills…ha ha…._

A tender hand on his back broke him from his expedition to the frontier of insanity. He teetered by the ledge, the steady pulse of chakra making his bearings shake beneath him. "Why…?" He whispered quietly, feeling his skin cold to the touch. The heat was gone and his flesh was clammy and only the buzz of chakra let him know: _yes, yes I am alive_. Warm fingers coasted his flesh and turned him over. A warm mouth found its way to his neck, tongue pressing against his artery and his pulse seemed magnified under the pressure. But it was still so faint, far too faint, and when the mouth withdrew he was sure his heart had stopped. He felt himself half swoon: the only indication a flutter of bruised eyelids.

The bed sank as Madara sat beside him. "Have you bled lately?" He asked, but by the tone of his voice one could tell he knew the answer. Itachi hadn't bled. Kabuto had told him of this degradation. They would deteriorate, slowly, if not taken care of. Madara had meant to (and he always had succeeded), but too long neglect, too much. If it was his brother's grave, he could pull the weeds out and it would be none the worse. But Itachi, the blood was already draining from his extremities. He was going to feel rigor mortis and _be alive_ as he became a corpse again. Kabuto had never told him how long the puppets would be cognizant as they decayed. It hadn't mattered, though, since they were merely puppets. But this was Itachi: this was different.

He had to last.

He had to survive.

He was _his_.

Itachi was turned on to his stomach again and he groaned a bit. It didn't hurt, per se, but he felt so embarrassed. He could feel the slickness of his flesh, the chill, and he couldn't even stand himself. Nimble fingers began to massage him and he let out a small whimper. The digits paused, but then proceeded when Itachi squirmed at the loss of touch. The blood began to move again, Madara rubbing the hands furiously, working up the arms, and then switching to the other side. He continued to apply chakra and, as the skin began to gain a rosy pallor (the blue would never leave), Itachi began to react. The toss of the head, the flex of the fingers indicated some sort of yearning. Madara quickly turned him over and smothered that mouth, the lips still horribly cold, but the cavern so warm in comparison. Madara swore he could have just gotten off by the sensations.

Itachi became active and drew Madara atop him, turning on his back as he did so. He worked at the clothes (gods how he missed human contact) and pressed his chilled flesh against the heated mass above him. He dug his fingernails in to the flesh of Madara's back, drawing blood easily. As he made a bloody path to the head, some blood dripped over the shoulder. Itachi detached from Madara's mouth and quickly took the liquid warmth in to his mouth. The sensation he got from it was unbelievable and, with the chakra, he felt inexplicably pulled to the body above him. He wounded the elder, assimilated the warmth, and felt wholly satisfied. When he fell back, blue tinged mouth doused in red, his hands splattered with carmine and caressing the cheek above him, he looked almost angelic. The color to his cheeks had returned, the cunning glow to his eyes in full swing, and his lips had recovered its voluptuousness. Madara greedily attacked the mouth again and, feeling between them, began to prepare Itachi for the act- the passage way slicked with his own, limitless blood.

In Itachi's opinion, it was probably the best sex he had ever had.

And it was meant to be a one night stand. Itachi woke up too soon though and Madara neglected to care, so the younger saw him leave. Feeling angered for being left alone again, Itachi followed the elder. The traveling clothes didn't sit right on Madara, the bandages a bit bulky under the cloak. He went through a passage way Itachi had previously thought led nowhere, but it was an exit. He followed Madara and, after two hours, they arrived in another grand canyon, the forest so dense the green seemed to close over the top of the pit. The walls were craggy and covered in thick vines, bursting forth with white flowers. One side was not green, though, and from it was carved (or grafted, rather) a giant statue. It was the bijuu device. The puppets stood on a finger each, without any volition, and were slack and Deidara had just fallen off. Suigetsu jumped from his mount and placed Deidara back a top. All told, there were about eight, two faces Itachi couldn't place. And there was one he had expected, but could not see. _Where was Sasuke?_

Madara cast a look back, acknowledging Itachi, and his eyes bade the younger to stop. He was a bit unnerved- he must not have noticed Itachi since he had his chakra signature now. He continued forward, summoned his sacred scrolls, and crossed them in the exact center of the monolith. The characters were turned up and went bright, momentary, and then sunk back to their black beginnings. He took his place on a finger, the puppets automatically straightened, and they all formed the necessary seals. Suddenly, the valley was echoing with the buzz of chakra and the voices of the demons, sealed within the device, crying foul. Itachi felt himself drawn forward, the flitting colors and power (_gods the power_) on which he could be restored. What was in that, that _thing_, could give him immortality.

His feet were stayed, though, when the rattling of chains became interplayed with the buzz of energy. Sasuke was being led in by two guards- no, puppets- and he was going willingly. He was placed atop the scrolls, his binds fixed to the ground. He looked around him, with a bit of disinterest. He looked at Madara, a sneer passing quickly over his features. He was one to sneer when people looked down on him- so Itachi knew Sasuke was trying to prove something by doing this. Itachi made a snort, happy to see time doesn't diminish some childish traits, and the noise brought Sasuke's eyes to Itachi's form. He looked awe struck and suddenly he was pulling the chains. He went to call out, but the scrolls came to life and serpentine extensions attached to his flesh and through it. He let out a wordless scream, sharingan activating, and he was being pulled into dumb obedience.

Itachi began running forward, but the two puppets stood in his way. They had katanas drawn and the mind to use them, so he stayed. "What are they doing?" He called out, hoping for a reply. When the chakra began to break forth and Sasuke went into another frantic rage, he called out louder: "Madara, what are you doing?"

The poisonous chakra burst forth, a few on the hands faltering, but holding steady none the less. Itachi recognized the terrible rhythm, the exchange of chakra, but the flesh that was being torn shouldn't have been happening. He broke past the two guards, one's katana sticking him in the side, but simply sliding out as he moved forward. He rushed into the burst of chakra, opening his body (as he had learned) to these powers, trying to get to the quickly disappearing form of his brother. He heard Madara yell frantically for it to stop, but some of the puppets were under the control of the rogue demons. Itachi pulled Sasuke into his arms and attempted to absorb the poisonous chakra away.

It was painful. He felt it tearing at him like a thousand tiny, charged needles. If he opened his eyes they'd degrade quickly. He shielded Sasuke as much as possible, the blood on his front growing thicker, but he did not know from whom the fount originated. Suddenly, he felt Sasuke jerk, but realized it was the chains that were moving. Itachi dared to open his eyes a fraction and saw Madara beside him, working furiously at the bounds with his mammoth strength. Soon the binds let go and he was able to destroy the scrolls. He pulled the two brothers out and all three collapsed outside the ring of explosive chakra. The system, without anything to stabilize it, fell in on itself and back to hell until it could be summoned again. Itachi breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

He extricated himself from Sasuke and stood. His body had been able to handle it better than he had thought, but he realized that only meant the blood he felt was mostly Sasuke's. Sasuke was a mass of cuts, his extremities turning purple from the blood rushing out of them. A few of the independents began to heal him and he could be saved. Madara was beside Itachi, sporting a few less cuts and sweating profusely from the effort he had just exerted. He looked at Itachi, who appeared listless and almost lost. As the blood drained from his wounds, his skin became a cool blue again. His eyes were swollen and bruised and bleeding, but he could see. He could see the hellish fiend before him and, within an instant, he set upon Madara.

"Why?" He screamed, the chaos of everything being forced into all his syllables: "why the _fuck_ would you do that?" He beat on the chest, his limbs were failing him. He had lost so much in that fight (in everything) and he felt it all the more disappearing with each breath. His knees began to buckle and he thought, sickeningly, of how he had fallen in the battle with his brother (how he had died). He attempted to straighten again and he succeeded. He stared into those eyes, the eyes that looked so concerned, and so worried, and so god damned calm.

"He wanted to become stronger." Madara stated simply, shifting into a cooler stature, his arms crossing defiantly. He felt all his muscles tremble, but he wasn't about to show weakness. He cast a cursory glance at Sasuke, who was slowly being healed, but perhaps his left arm wouldn't make it. He looked back at Itachi whose breath was dogged and his fingers twitching- just the way they did before he wanted sex. But that wasn't why they were now. They wanted something, anything, to drive through the heart of the man before him.

When Itachi didn't seem satisfied, Madara continued: "He wanted to be of use to you."

Itachi quickly saw the cryptic message: "You told him I had died? You bastard!" It all made sense. Sasuke had returned when Itachi was at his worst- it looked as if he _was_ dying. It would be logical and easy to believe that Itachi had died. More than likely, Sasuke was working to get this power- or acquiesced to get this power- to resurrect Itachi. Again.

He cracked at that point. Madara only had one reason to do that. Itachi was no good for a weapon and could be of no help of any kind. All he was good for was to be Madara's damned play thing. His fist lashed out, but was deftly caught by the object of his rage. He had it twisted behind him, Madara forcing him to bend in half and turning the wrist painfully. "After I save your life, you _dare_ to hit me?" the elder hissed, twisting the wrist for emphasis. "Do you know why I saved you?" Honestly, Itachi didn't really care. But that Katana, right there, that he did care about. "I love you, Itachi." Like he hadn't heard that before. "And not that stupid love. The real love." The grip on his hand trembled, relaxed, and a new wetness dripped softly on his back, the salt from it burning Itachi's open wounds. "I love you, Itachi."

He grabbed the katana and spun about, throwing Madara back. He pressed the blade against the neck. He took a quick look at the face: never aging, torn a bit by the left cheek, and crumpling into a sob, which was held back. Madara didn't even move at the point of death. He set his face and his body, running his tongue over his lips as he steadied himself. "I love you." He whispered as the blade cut through his neck and the head tore slowly from the writhing body. The sinews cracked apart sickeningly, sending a fresh spray into Itachi's face and wetting his lips.

"And I love Sasuke." He assured himself as the body fell limp, but he still felt empty, and dropping the soiled katana, he ran with his final burden. He ran for hours, days, weeks- he didn't keep track of the time. He arrived at the Uchiha cemetery, nearly caught, but after an injurious battle, made it past the village guards. He collapsed among the graves, coated in his blood, Sasuke's blood, and Madara's blood. His flesh had turned from blue to white since it had all drained as rigor mortis set in. He felt the paralysis of death, the cloud of ravens he had summoned to guide him (his eyes having had failed due to the corrosive chakra of the demons) began to take flight and then free fall. They morphed back in to the puddles of blood from which they were formed when they crashed in to the ground. The red coated the graves and the grass. He maneuvered Madara's body poorly, but he was too weak to bury it. He placed it atop the verdant ground, a few petals from his brother's grave spilling over.

Itachi was going to lay the head with the body, but the spire- the spire that set off the separation of the stones looked too enticing. It was meant to accentuate the division of Madara's tombstone and that of his brother's. He took the head, using his last ounce of strength, and impaled it on the short spike. He stumbled his way to his parent's grave and curled up among the dead flowers and overgrown vegetation, crying himself in to oblivion. He died shortly thereafter.

End Note: Sasuke recovered. He didn't lose his left arm, but only his ring finger and middle finger on his left hand. He returned to Konoha on the 10th of October. He was put in to jail and remains there until his term is up. He doesn't speak anymore.

* * *

**Well there it is, in it's shotty glory. I am sorry I couldn't keep the writing voice straight, but this was an experimental piece. **


End file.
